


A Guide to Tango Terminology

by ishka



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishka/pseuds/ishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of it all, there will be a final step. They’ll end on a twist, on a pivot- perfectly synched- regardless of the tempos they’ve chosen to carry themselves on to get to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guide to Tango Terminology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maybeillride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/gifts).



> Makoto Birthday Exchange for Procrastinators! That’s me. A last minute person.
> 
> Prompt I chose: _Makoharu tango/Argentine street life / dance AU. Pls, watch https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-6-6kN79oIA and just write MH however this scene strikes you. Hot sex, actual dancing, just clandestine looks, whatever your feels_
> 
> So I’m horrifically unversed in dance-related anything so I went to do some research to help me write a M/H Argentine tango AU and naturally ended up with 26-ish different M/H AUs/scenes not about Argentine tango in the slightest. I used the terms instead... except for U, W, and X, whose dance terms I had to make a serious stretch for. Useless letters. The terms in use can be found [ here](http://www.tejastango.com/terminology.html) for better context. And I also stole it as a title. This is... probably frowned upon.
> 
> Anyway, onwards. Hopefully this is acceptably within the very outer outskirts of what you actually asked for. ;0;

**Atrás**

There are a number of days that have passed that Haru does not count anymore where he wakes up before his alarm and forces himself through the motions of getting ready for a day he isn’t ready for. He bathes and dresses and even combs through his fine hair, chokes back a breakfast, and slips into his shoes before standing at his door-

-only to turn back around and reverse his steps back to bed until he is ready to cross the threshold.

He only stopped counting the days this happens to him because Makoto confides in Haru that sometimes he does it too.

 

**Bailarin**

“You’re still the best in the water.”

Makoto says it out of nowhere when Haru is decidedly not in the water, and in fact when he’s sitting in the dry dirt of a failed garden with a pinched expression as he uproots all the of brittle frost-bitten plants he only just put down a week prior.

“It’s a delayed spring,” he continues with a laugh. “There was ice on the window this morning.”

Haru pulls the last of it out and tosses the shriveled tulip bulb into one of their orange ceramic mixing bowls with the rest of the offending matter, then stands to brush the dirt from his palms. He looks at Makoto with the sort of defiance he typically saves for Rin.

“And I’m still going to the pool.”

Of course, Makoto’s already wearing his jammers under his clothes.

 

**Compás**

If he had to put his finger on the pulse of what they are, Haru might decide it’s even and doesn’t falter, even if it quickens when they argue (they do) or it slows when they have to go awhile without seeing each other (sometimes weeks). 

Because an even pulse was never the dull thrum they’d grown used to and complacent in. The one that never changed, the one that was safe. It was the thunderous beat they learned not to be afraid of, the quiet hum that took them their entire lives to train their ears to hear and their fingertips to feel even under the thin layers of skin at the other’s wrist. 

The tempo changes now, and it’s the strongest and most steady their hearts have ever been.

 

**Dibujo**

Haru writes all of his answers to Makoto’s questions in the sand with his foot and smiles when the tide rolls forward to pull them out to sea. 

“What did you think of the movie?”

_Awful._

“Did you lock the door before we left?”

_Yes._

“When does your flight leave tomorrow?”

Makoto sees him hesitate to answer the question he’s been purposefully ignoring the entire weekend, as they customarily do to learn to live in the suspended moments they’re able to find for each other in their busy lives.

 _Tuesday,_ he writes slowly. 

Makoto beams with excitement and adds a crude smiley face with his heel underneath the surprise of an extra day, finishing just as another wave rolls in to wash it back to slate.

 

**Entregarme**

They both know Haru is a leader in unconventional ways, because everyone assumes Captain Makoto has no need for leadership himself. 

He does.

He needs guidance. Help. Advice. 

He needs reassurance. Support. A gentle push towards the answers he’s already found for himself.

No one knows that Haru is Vice Captain in name only, and that Makoto’s title holds a silent _co-_ as its prefix. Not even Haru.

 

**Freno**

Haru is eager; Makoto forgets what he was wearing that day for how fast it’s stripped of him and discarded.

Quantifying his want is impossible, voicing his needs is unnecessary.

But someone could’ve thought to inform the cat.

“Haru,” Makoto breathes, “stop. The cat is watching.”

The cat takes the hint in the form of an icy blue glare that transcends species.

 

**Golpecitos**

Haru levels a hand over Makoto’s knee to stop the unending _tap tap tap_ of his sneaker on the creaky floorboards of Yamazaki’s ramshackle apartment.

“Sorry.”

Haru lets go and counts to four before Makoto starts to tap again as Rin looks into the camera and snaps his goggles on his head, never breaking eye contact with any of them through the motion. He takes his place on the block and looks down. 

Haru finds his fingers have started to drum anxiously along his thighs as well.

 

**Habanera**

Makoto doesn’t stop himself for once from acting out what he’s thinking when Haru says in disbelief from his doorway: “I did it. I’m going to Brazil.” 

Makoto’s kitchen is a dance floor and Haru slides along in step with bubbling, elated laughter on his lips that Makoto steals with his own at the end of their stride.

 

**Inclinada**

A tilt and a smile that tells everyone it’s okay.

But Makoto’s head doesn’t cock to the right as it usually does and goes left instead, and his smile shows too many teeth to overcompensate its insincerity. 

Part of growing up was learning that Haru isn’t responsible for Makoto’s head tilting the correct way, nor for knowing just how many teeth exposed means his smile is a lie.

Part of growing up was Makoto needing to find his voice just as much as Haru needed to.

 

**Junta**

Makoto knows Haru doesn’t follow him to Tokyo. Haru goes with him instead.

They do not let the fear of the unknown create a narrow spiraling stairway. Instead they straighten it into a path together with room to walk side by side.

 

**Kick (Patada)**

Makoto has a weak kick-

-in the water.

In the bed it’s perfectly adequate, and something he just loves to do to Haru in his sleep.

 

**Lento**

If he blinks, he could miss it, and this used to frustrate him. 

Makoto unearths layers of Haru he doesn’t mean to expose. Catches depth in his eyes Haru thought he’d kept in his chest. Sees a stillness in the movements that Haru is hesitant to finish. If Makoto looks away for too long, he misses these snags, these lightning quick snapshots into Haru’s thoughts that made him complete in Makoto’s mind for a long time.

Until Makoto took a step back to look and appreciate what Haru chooses to show him instead, in lieu of forcing meaning from what Haru isn’t ready for him to see yet. The subtle narrative Haru writes in Makoto’s presence, the small acts of affirmation that paint a larger picture of companionship. 

Makoto likes this better, and finds this slower reading of Haru doesn’t detract from anything at all.

 

**Mira**

Haru loves to watch Makoto cook, and not because he’s helpless with it.

Anything but.

Makoto learns in real time, a crease on his brow and the tip of his tongue pinched in focus at the corner of his mouth as he steadily slices through an onion the way Haru taught him to. Slow, but accurate. Momento building alongside his confidence until the chop is the steady _thock thock thock_ of the second hand on a clock through the last of the layers. 

He daringly flips the rice in its pan with the flamboyant flick of his wrist, catching it all and grinning to the side so that Haru can see it and feel his pride.

He plates a finished omurice with the release of a breath he’d likely been holding the entire time, and Haru tells him it’s good around his first bite, because it is.

 

**Nùmero**

All things good must come to an end. 

All books have finite pages. All races contain a set number of laps. All dances only command so many steps.

Makoto knew that already. Haru didn’t. Haru thought things could just continue indefinitely, even when he should’ve known better.

But there can be more than one book. A mulligan on a race. A dance to a different song.

Haru knew that already. Makoto didn’t. Makoto thought things were set in stone, even when he should’ve known better.

What they’re happy to find out together though- on the same page, in neighboring lanes, on the same dance step- is that all things bad must also come to an end.

 

**Otra vez**

“I can do it this time,” Makoto states with confidence.

So Haru nods in agreement and stands on the block, ready to make Makoto prove it.

Makoto mirrors him and counts down, and they swim to win against the other.

Haru feels Makoto give it his all. The tidal wave he pushes out with each stroke, the water that’s displaced around his broad chest when he breathes deep, the force with which he uses to push off the wall and swim back. 

The way Makoto doesn’t treat Haru as anything other than his opponent in this moment.

Haru feels Makoto’s victory shout vibrating on the air even though he loses.

Makoto’s face splits with a smile and he repeats himself from years prior: “I lost!”

He’s conquered something much more important.

 

**Pinta**

There is a side of Haru that Makoto does not know.

It plays at the tug of Haru’s mouth and keeps him from smiling as much as Makoto thinks he’d actually like to. Moves his lips to make Haru say things he never wanted to say. Catches and stills Haru’s tongue over what he should’ve. 

It dresses Haru dowdy and sometimes in the same thing multiple days in a row. It lends a drag to Haru’s footsteps that keep either of his feet from lifting completely when he walks. It sits heavy on Haru’s shoulders and forces him to slouch to carry it, threatening to make him collapse.

Makoto does not know this side. He can’t see this side. He only sees what it does to Haru, and it terrifies him into silence.

 

**Quebrada**

Makoto loses his wallet, fails an important quiz, sprains his wrist after a slip on a puddle of water Haru was just leaving to find a towel to clean up after, and breaks his glasses when Rin shows up unexpectedly and proceeds to sit on them where they’d been left on the couch- all in the same week, all of which Makoto sighs or smiles through.

He’s in a brace and squinting over his notes for the upcoming final the following week when Haru pops in to see how he’s holding up, the answer to that coming in the form of a loud, ugly sob as Makoto’s favorite green highlighter runs dry just as the door latches behind Haru.

Haru lets Makoto throw a well-deserved fit as he sets up the dinner he brought, reaching awkwardly over Makoto’s heaving shoulders to push all the books aside and set up the take-out. He takes his place across from Makoto at the kotatsu and smiles fondly as the other’s sniffles die down, nose now on the scent of his favorite curry.

 

**Rodillas**

When they finally join him outside of the aquatic center, Rin asks why Makoto’s knees are suddenly so red; did he trip in the locker room getting dressed or something? 

It’s an innocent question.

Haru finds his arm to stifle a laugh and Makoto finds his face quickly matches the tone of the joints in question. Rin gets the wordless answer he definitely wasn’t looking for.

 

**Syncopation**

Sometimes Makoto’s endearing _quirks_ are more like dirt tracked into the bathroom. Grit that sticks obnoxiously to Haru’s feet. That fine line that he can’t get into the dustpan. All only just innocent enough to ignore when he’s having an average day, but apocalyptically soul-crushing when he’s having an off-day.

Haru could list the offenses out, he declares snarkily as he put their games and movies back in their proper cases, but he doesn’t have all week to sit there and do it.

Makoto pushes a puff of indignancy through his nose and Haru half expects him to bite back with a similar retort; deep down Haru knows he has just as many of these _quirks_ as Makoto. 

But instead he shakes his head of it and waits for Haru to apologize.

 

**Unwrap**

“Um,” Makoto asks nervously, “what is it?”

“...Crayons?” Haru answers tentatively. “The biggest box I could find.”

“Would you like me to draw you pictures?”

Haru shrugs. “Do whatever you want with them. I’m sick of everyone gifting you wristwatches and loafers and new countertop appliances that you only return every year. You’re not even close to the age to deserve those gifts.”

Makoto laughs and pops the top off the box. “I’m close enough.” 

He runs his fingers along the rows of variant shades with a thoughtful hum, and chooses a garish neon pink that makes Haru’s face twist in disapproval. He then pulls the discarded wrapping paper to him and flips it to the blank side, and writes something in private that Haru cranes his neck to see but isn’t allowed to, denied by a hasty crumpling of the paper. Makoto would much rather say it out loud instead- 

Maybe next year. 

“Thank you.”

 

**Volcada**

Haru learned to walk before Makoto, which made him responsible for Makoto’s constant wobble.

Makoto has a high center of gravity, that or he just doesn’t think anything can knock him over and stumbles in surprise when he’s hit with any gust of wind carrying a grudge. Haru’s steadied him back to center more times than he can count. 

He isn’t very sure on his feet, so sometimes Makoto chooses to stay seated, and sometimes Haru has to push him on purpose to make him trip, if only to remind Makoto that Haru still won’t let him fall.

 

**Weight**

Makoto lives for the moments where Haru feels heavy, as it’s rare he’s anything other than featherlight.

Somehow, Haru is able to avoid every noisy spot on the stairs and is able to crawl into bed without dipping the mattress. Makoto’s sure he’s never been accidentally woken up by Haru making any noise at all.

So Makoto is disproportionately happy when Haru is tired enough to slump onto him with enough force to pull an _oomph!_ from his throat, when he settles his hips in a lock over Makoto’s and peers down at him with narrowed eyes. 

Above all he relishes in the crushing weight that settles over his chest every time Haru says he’s home. 

 

**X**

Haru’s taken to crossing off the days as they pass when they’re together, and leaving the days they’re apart blank. He likes to keep his options open when he’s on his own, per Rin’s suggestion, but wants to make sure his days are already marked for full when Makoto’s around to start them in an embrace. 

 

**Yumba**

Haru is the loudest person Makoto knows. He’s just learned to speak in different tongues. But everything Haru says is sure and powerful, because though he’s loud he never speaks in these languages without a purpose. Makoto is a polyglot, because he never wants to miss a word.

 

**Zarandeo**

At the end of it all, no matter what path they’ve walked, together or separately, full of what-ifs or now-we-knows, it all comes to a silent stop.

There’s a point where there’s nowhere else to go, where everything else falls and fades away and it’s only them in the center of everything and nothing. 

At the end of it all, there will be a final step. They’ll end on a twist, on a pivot- perfectly synched- regardless of the tempos they’ve chosen to carry themselves on to get to it.

The curtains will draw, the audience will disperse, the overhead lights will beat heat down on them for only a moment longer and then abruptly cut away with the downwhir of receding power. 

There will be a final smile in a still and welcome dark from them both in some way, purposefully oblivious to the end of their show.


End file.
